


i am not there; i do not sleep

by midnightluck



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 21:41:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11261568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightluck/pseuds/midnightluck
Summary: Thatch is a pretty nice guy, you know? He works hard on things that make people smile, like food or flowers. So when some teenager blatantly commits grand theft botany, it's up to Thatch to avenge his garden! Except, turns out he wanted the flowers for his best girl, and Thatch can't exactly begrudge him that...





	i am not there; i do not sleep

**Author's Note:**

> y'all I have never vagued an au this hard before, ever. Title from Mary Elizabeth Frye.
> 
> for an ask on my tumblr by a lovely anon

Whoever’s whistling _Binks’ Sake_ passes on the other side of the wall, and Thatch can tell when they hit the gate because it cuts off with “Ah! Pretty!”

He smiles, because yes, it is. That’s exactly why he doesn’t mind spending hours scraping in the dirt and dealing with the fussiness of a watering schedule, because he puts in the hard work and gets paid in everyone else’s smiles.

The whistling doesn’t restart and there’s no more footsteps, so whoever it is must’ve stopped to admire the large hibiscus plants that frame the gate.

Thatch dithers for a moment but then remembers that manners suck and steps up on the stone bench inside the wall. He jumps and catches the top, then pulls himself up to dangle his torso over the edge.

The first thing he sees is a bare back, leaning in close to the hibiscus plant. And then it straightens up with a pleased noise, _flower in hand_ , and Thatch squawks and flails so hard he launches himself forward off the wall.

He manages to turn it into an awkward sort of tumble, because he really is that good, but still ends up sprawled in an ungainly heap in front of his own house. He blinks up at the sky a few times, wondering if he’s still got working limbs.

Then a head gets between him and the sun and that same voice says, “You okay, man?”

There’s a hand on offer, so Thatch takes it and lets the stranger pull him to his feet. “I’m fine,” he says out of habit, but he actually also is, so that’s good. Then he takes a second look at the guy–kid–and makes the same noise/gesture combination that caused his little humpty-dumpty moment. “You picked my flowers!”

“Oh,” the kid says, blinking. He’s got black hair, squinty eyes, a shitton of freckles across his nose and one of Thatch’s glorious hibiscus flowers in his hand and another behind his ear. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t think! I was just on my way to visit someone, and I saw them and…”

Oh. Well. That’s a different story entirely. “And you thought my flowers were pretty enough to be a good present?” Thatch demands, stepping closer.

The kid makes shifty eyes and fidgets. “…yes?”

Thatch stares at him from an inch away, then nods and claps the kid’s shoulder. “In that case,” he says, turning them to face the gate and waving grandly, “come in and pick a bouquet.”

That gets a startled laugh, but then he’s shaking his head. “That’s kind of you, but honestly I only wanted this one. The hibiscus is kinda her thing, you know?”

Thatch does know, actually, because there’s a reason he even has hibiscus flowers, even if he’ll never see them in her hair ever again. “So it’s for a girl!” he exclaims. “Pretty, is she?”

The kid nods, grinning and somehow a bit familiar. “My best girl,” he says with a bit of pride, looking down at the flower in his hand. “Prettiest in the world.”

“Of course she is,” Thatch agrees, because how can he not? This is all just so sweet! He wishes he could see the look on this girl’s face when she gets the flower–well, actually… “But I’m afraid my flowers come at a price.”

The kid jerks up, eyes wide, and shit, how young even is he? Before he has a chance to start worrying, though, Thatch barrels on. “And that price is the smile of a pretty girl, so I’m just going to have to come along to collect!”

He’s calmer now but still a bit wary. “I…can’t promise you a smile,” he says slowly, “but–”

Shit, no, that’s not at all the reaction Thatch had been aiming for. “No, no, it’s okay!” he backtracks. “Sorry didn’t mean it like that–I just love seeing people enjoy my flowers, you know?”

The kid looks down at the flower, then back up to him, then down to the flower again. His hands, Thatch notices, are dirty, and his shorts are dingy and fraying at the edges. There’s an orange shirt tucked through a back belt loop, all creases and bunches. “It’s fine,” Thatch says instead. “Just take it to her with my compliments.”

But when the kid looks back up, there’s determination in the set of his mouth. “No, feel free to come along,” he says. “It’ll be short anyway, and–” he looks back down at the single bloom. “–and this flower is perfect. It’s exactly the right color, and it smells like her, and I know she’ll love it. It’s the least I can do.”

That sounds more like obligation that desire and Thatch realizes that yeah, well, he did basically invite himself along on this random kid’s date. “No, don’t worry about it–” he starts, heading back for the gate. “You run along and have fun, I mean it!”

But then he gets to the gate and pushes and it doesn’t open. Because it’s locked. And his keys are inside, because of course they are, because he hadn’t exactly been planning on a jaunt across the top of his garden wall.

Pops is inside, but he shouldn’t be moving around right now, and Marco’s working, and Namur will only stare at him, and Fossa won’t be home for hours yet, and–

–and the kid’s laughing at him. “And now I’m being laughed at,” he tells his hibiscus plants mournfully. “Even the random kid who came to steal my flowers is laughing at me. My life is a joke and I’m locked out and being laughed at.”

“Better come along, then.” the kid says, mouth twitching and eyes dancing, and with the freckles and the flower he just looks so familiar. Maybe they’ve met somewhere in the city?

“Looks like I’m outvoted,” Thatch says, and falls in step with the kid. “I’m Thatch, by the way.”

“Ace,” the kid offers, and Thatch nods and claps him on the shoulder.

“I like you, Ace,” he says. “Feel free to come raid my garden any time.”

Ace laughs again, idly twirling the flower in his hand. “Thanks, but I’m not really a flower kind of guy.”

“Shame,” Thatch says easily. “It suits you.”

Ace’s hand raises to the flower in his hair, and he looks away and bites his lip. “Yeah, well,” he says, and leaves it at that.

They walk in silence for a bit, and then Thatch spins to face him, walking backwards just because he can. “Hey, do you know what the hibiscus flower means?”

Ace blinks at him. “What it means…?”

“Yeah! In the flower language!”

“There’s a flower language?”

“Oh, you poor child! Yes, there’s a flower language! People used to talk in bouquets, even if that’s not really done anymore. No one respects the old manners, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, I know.”

“Yeah, so–wait, you do?” That’s interesting, and Thatch flips back around to walk beside him. “You are pretty polite, I guess.”

Ace sticks his nose in the air, but it’s ruined by the smile he’s failing to hide. “I’ll have you know, kind sir, that I was taught not only manners but also the proper usage thereof.”

And Thatch really tries but he can’t help pointing out, “And yet you steal flowers.”

The grin Ace slants him is one hundred percent pure mischief and would be right at home on any of his family’s faces. “I said I learned them; never said I used them.”

That startles a laugh out of Thatch. “Oh, man,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ll have to come over for dinner some time; my family would love you.”

And the mood flips as the smile falls off Ace’s face. “Family?” he repeats.

So Thatch does what he does best; he blatantly ignores it and goes on talking. “You saw the size of that house, kid; you think I live there alone? Our Pops–his name’s Edward Newgate but they call him Whitebeard–”

Ace’s head whips around. “Wait, that’s Whitebeard’s house?”

“Oh, you’ve heard of us?”

“ _Everyone’s_ heard of you.”

Probably, but Thatch still scratches the side of his face when he grins awkwardly. “Seems rude to assume,” he says instead, and the disbelieving look Ace gives him is epic.

“Please feel free to assume that I have watched the news at least once in my life,” Ace says because apparently he can do _little shit_ even better than Haruta.

Thatch beams at him, “We’re going to steal you,” he tells Ace. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Ace makes grumbly noises but nothing loud enough for Thatch to feel obligated to respond to, so they walk quietly for a while.

The weather’s nice today; mild for summer, with just enough wind to keep it from being overwhelming. Thatch closes his eyes to enjoy it for a few steps and catches the scent of salt and flowers on the breeze.

When he looks around again, he realizes he knows this area. There’s a beautiful overlook right over this hill, and the only other thing out this way is–well, shit, he hopes they’re just going for a picnic or something. He hopes that really hard, but then he remembers the way Ace had hesitated on _I can’t promise a smile_ and his stomach drops.

Sure enough, when they pass the gate to the Grand Line Cemetery, Ace turns to go in, and Thatch balks. “I’ll just–” he says weakly, and Ace looks back and raises his eyebrows.

Right. He’s the one that started this. He may as well see it through.

So he paces Ace down the main row, then over a few and back some more. The path is almost familiar to him, in the nagging kind of way Ace’s smile is, and he can’t think why until they hit the little hill in the back corner.

“Hey, mom,” Ace says to the polished granite that Thatch doesn’t need to read. “Look what I brought!” He kneels to place the hibiscus flower just right, then plops down to sit. “I even made a new friend out of it. Well, a maybe friend. Anyway, look! It’s exactly the right color, just like the ones you used to wear! And it even smells right!”

And Thatch knows it’s probably exactly the wrong thing to do, but he can’t help himself. He steps forward to drop a hand on Ace’s shoulder and says, “Of course it’s right. It’s hers.”

Ace tilts his head back to squint up at Thatch, but he doesn’t look angry, so at least there’s that. “What?”

“Those flowers are hers,” Thatch explains, crouching down next to him. “I planted them for her on her birthday one year, so she would always have a supply of fresh flowers for her hair.”

Ace blinks up at him. “You knew my mom?”

“Knew, hell. Didn’t she tell you, kid? Rouge was a Whitebeard once.”

“She never told me anything,” Ace says, turning his head back to the stone. “She died in childbirth.”

Oh, shit, Thatch just keeps putting his foot in his mouth today. What can he say to make this right? He flounders around in silence.

Then Ace looks back at him and says, “She was a Whitebeard?” and that, at least, Thatch knows how to deal with.

“Yeah. Rouge joined young, back when the family wasn’t massive yet. Back before me, but only by a bit! She always said that meant I was her little brother, even though I’m older! Ah, but she was always smiling and happy and she loved to dance.”

He glances to the side, and Ace is watching him with rapt attention and glazed eyes. “She was always after flowers. Any kind, really, but hibiscus was her favorite. Every time we’d go traveling, she’d come back with some kind of flower in her hair and a story of how she got it. Some of those stories got real wild, but we never knew how true they were. I still don’t think she really fought a dragon to get that golden lily, but her hair was singed and she did smell like smoke, so who knows?

“And then one day she said there was something she had to do, something more important than the wind, more important than freedom, and would we mind if she went back home? So we let her go, but we never forgot her. And when we heard she was dead, well, we did this.” He waves to the grave and the whirligigs around it. “Because that’s how it works with us; even if you walk your own path, once you’re part of the family, you’re always part of it.”

They sit in silence long enough for Thatch’s leg to cramp, but he’s not about to move. Finally Ace asks, in a wavering voice, “Why the spinners? I always wondered…”

There’s a lot of them, a riot of moving color, and it might be offputting, if one cared about solemnity and such. “She liked to dance. She loved the wind. She loved flowers,” he says, and makes a sweeping motion. “So everyone who missed her made one, and we gave her a field of her own to watch over.”

And then he waits, looking straight ahead and not at Ace. He waits, and he loses himself in memory. They’d been so young and happy, all of them, and loud and bright and free, and maybe Rouge really had fought a dragon for a pretty flower. Seems like the kind of thing she’d have done.

“Thank you,” Ace says suddenly and Thatch startles.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, and stands up. Ace stands too, dusting off his shorts and passing his wrist over his eyes. Thatch pretends not to see and they head back out.

When they hit the cemetery gate, Thatch glances over and decides hell with it. “You wanna come to dinner?” he asks again. “Pops would be glad to meet you, you know.”

Ace sighs and then tries out a smile, even if it’s a bit wobbly. “I dunno,” he says. “You still gonna try to steal me?”

“Don’t have to, kid,” Thatch tells him, and never meant anything more in his life. “You’re Rouge’s, so we’re already yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> hibiscus means "perfect woman," btw
> 
> and why not whitebeard rouge? we don't know she wasn't. what if the reason there's no second division commander is that there was no Portgas around to do it?


End file.
